


pick me up and carry me

by waveydnp



Series: byebye 20gayteen daily fic advent [3]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Broken Bones, Canon Compliant, Descriptions of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 07:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: prompt: Dan breaks his leg, so they both stay home for Christmas





	pick me up and carry me

All it took was a wobble and an awkward step down on the stairs. The crunching sound was sickening, the pain even worse, turning his vision black around the edges.

Fear coloured everything as he sat on the step and tried to remember how to breathe. Legs shouldn’t bend that way. 

He didn’t want to look, afraid he’d see bone and blood and lose the tenuous control he had over his stomach. 

God only knows how long he’d sat there before Phil showed up. The fear that crossed his face will stay lodged in Dan’s brain forever, probably. He was convinced from the way the life drained from Phil’s cheeks that his own death was imminent.

He tried to stand. The sound that escaped the back of his throat was tortured and alien and the pain shot white hot and angry up his leg.

He thinks Phil shouted, but his own ears were ringing so he can’t be sure.

He doesn’t really remember what happened between then and watching the ambulance doors closing him in. Maybe that’s for the best.

There’s a cuff on his arm and he can hear Phil’s voice, pitched up in panic and asking questions of a paramedic who’s not listening to him.

“Phil,” Dan croaks. “I’m fine.”

“He’s in shock,” the paramedic says to Phil. “It’s a good thing. It’s keeping him from feeling the extent of it.”

Dan closes his eyes. If this isn’t the extent of it he might actually go mad when the shock wears off. He looks down at his ankle. It’s swollen and bruised but there’s no bone. No blood. He tries to move it and the pain explodes again and the next thing he knows he’s sat in a wheelchair in A&E. 

Phil looks a fucking mess. He’s still wearing pajamas and his hair is flat and unwashed. 

“What’s happening?” Dan asks. His voice sounds weird.

“We’re waiting,” Phil says, squeezing Dan’s hand. “Remember?”

Dan shakes his head. “Must have zoned out.”

“You’re in shock.”

“I feel like maybe I’m not anymore.”

“Does it hurt?” Phil asks. “They gave you drugs when we got here, do you remember?”

Dan shakes his head. “Doesn’t really hurt right now.”

“They said try not to move it.”

“Is it broken?” Dan asks. “It feels— felt like it broke. When I stepped down I stepped wrong. It fucking— felt like it bent in bloody half.”

“They said they think it’s just a really bad sprain.”

“What? Why?”

“They said if it was broken you wouldn’t have been able to walk on it.”

“When did I walk on it?” Dan asks, bewildered.

“You walked to the ambulance. They didn’t bring crutches. I freaking told them your leg was broken and they didn’t bring freaking crutches.” Phil sounds angry in a way Dan rarely hears from him.

“I’m fine, Phil.”

“How could they not bring crutches?” Phil says again. “I told them your leg was broken and they ignored me. They said if it was broken you’d be screaming. You’d have been in agony.”

“I was,” Dan croaks. “I mean, I can’t remember everything, but… what I remember is definitely agony.”

Phil bites his lip. “They said it’s probably a sprain.” He sounds like he’s clinging to the hope that it’s true.

Dan _knows_ it’s not. He heard the fucking crunch. 

“I guess we’ll find out eventually,” he says. If it makes Phil feel better for now he’s not going to argue.

They wait for hours. When they finally get put into an exam room they wait another forty five minutes for a doctor to come in and poke and prod at Dan’s ankle and ask him how it happened. She says it’s probably sprained but they want to x-ray it to be sure. 

She smiles a lot and speaks in a soothing voice. To Dan it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard. He knows his fucking ankle is broken and no one is listening to him but she pats his arm and tells him the chances of anything more than a hairline fracture are highly unlikely.

She’s smug in a very polite way. Condescending but sweet enough that Dan feels guilty for being tilted. 

It’s hours more before they finally take Dan for the x-ray. Phil’s not allowed to come for that bit. He looks like he’s going to be sick, but Dan’s almost glad. He doesn’t have to put on a brave face when Phil can’t see him.

The technician takes the x-rays and brings Dan back to the exam room where he waits yet again. He can tell he’s not in shock anymore because his ankle is throbbing and his mind is racing with all the ways this injury is going to fuck up his and Phil’s plans. 

It’s nearly Christmas. He’d been meant to leave for Wokingham in a couple of days. Phil’s got a plane ticket up north booked for tomorrow.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Phil says, apropos of nothing except maybe his own internal panic. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. 

When the doctor knocks lightly and opens the door Dan feels immediately vindicated, before even hearing what she has to say. Her face is serious, all traces of the previous comforting smile long gone. She kneels down to Dan’s level to deliver the news.

“It’s a break. A bad one.”

“Oh god,” Phil murmurs.

Dan has to physically bite his tongue to keep from saying I told you so.

“Do you want to see?” she asks.

Dan nods. 

Phil’s not allowed to come. 

The doctor wheels him out to a different room and shows him his scans on a computer. The smugness he felt at being right about a break fades when he sees what his leg looks like from the inside.

It’s not just broken, it’s borderline shattered. There are three separate breaks in his leg and it’s jagged and horrible and she informs him he’s ripped half the tendons in his ankle too. 

He tells her he walked on it earlier and asks if that could have made things worse. She doesn’t believe him. He’s rapidly losing the will to keep himself together.

He takes a picture of the scans on his phone and she wheels him back to Phil. 

Phil has questions. Dan thinks maybe he’s in shock again. He hears the doctor say things like: 

“The recovery will be long and difficult.” 

“It’s likely he’ll need surgery before we can fit him for a cast.”

“It will be months before he can walk on his own again and he’ll need extensive physiotherapy to get back to where he was.”

Dan checks out after that. They give him more drugs and take him up to a private room. They undress him and put him in bed and make him repeat his story at least three separate times. A nurse comes in every hour to take his vitals.

Phil calls his parents and tries not to let Dan see that he’s crying. Dan texts the photos to Bryony and takes a perverse satisfaction in her horrified reaction. 

A slew of different doctors pop in and out and eventually he’s told he’ll have surgery in the morning as long as no emergent cases arrive before then. 

Dan’s mostly stopped listening to the details at this point. He’ll need pins and a plate of metal and he’s not allowed to eat or drink and he has to ring a call bell every time he needs a wee and Phil’s gone home to get toothbrushes and deodorant and Dan’s so fucking lonely and scared and confused.

He’d just been going down the stairs, like he’s done a million and one times before. This isn’t right, this shouldn’t be happening to him. It’s not fair. It’s not right. 

He drifts in and out of restless sleep until Phil returns. The nurse sets up a chair bed for Phil to sleep on and turns the lights down low. The monitors beep and it smells just exactly like a hospital and the IV in Dan’s hand itches and pulls when he tries to roll over onto his side.

“Phil?” Dan whimpers.

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” Phil gets up and sits on the side of Dan’s bed. “I am too.”

“Can you… can you just pretend you’re not. Just tell me it’s fine. We’re fine and everything’s gonna be ok.”

“It will,” Phil says, brushing Dan’s wavy fringe off his sweaty forehead. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

Phil frowns. “I’m definitely not.”

“But—”

“You think I’m going to leave you like this?” His voice toes the line between incredulity and downright offense.

“It’s Christmas,” Dan says. 

“All the more reason.”

“You’re gonna stay?”

Phil nods. 

Dan actually smiles at that. His fibula may be broken into three separate pieces and his ankle basically jelly, but at least he finally gets to spend Christmas with Phil. He’s been wanting that since the very beginning. 

-

Phil helps Dan shower for the first time in a week on the morning of Christmas eve. It takes forever and they get water absolutely everywhere. Dan grips Phil’s arm like a vice the whole time but he’s quite sure nothing has ever felt more satisfying in all his life than washing away a week’s worth of sweat and filth. 

It’s been one of the worst weeks of his life to be sure, but he’s trying to stay positive. He hasn’t been sleeping well and he gets anxious when he thinks of all the work his body still has to do to heal itself, but the worst is behind them now. 

He’s got metal inside his body and a huge incision that will remain a nasty scar. The crutches hurt under his arms and he can’t do much for himself without asking Phil for help. The cast is strapped tight to his leg, heavy and cumbersome. 

But their flat smells like cranberries and pine. Their tree is big and slightly crooked and sheds its little green needles onto the floor and sparkles with a million baubles and white lights Dan had watched Phil set up. Phil puts chocolate syrup and candy canes in his coffee and Dan drinks Christmas-spiced tea.

They get their groceries delivered and eat mince pies until they feel sick.

They spend most of the day on the sofa cuddled under a fluffy blanket and watching classic Christmas films. They’d agreed not to hold back on being cheesy and over the top. They may not be able to spend Christmas together next year; they’re going to make the bloody most of the time they have.

Phil’s head is slumped against Dan’s shoulder and his breathing is the slow, even rhythm of someone who’s fallen asleep. Dan lets him stay that way. He’s been taking care of Dan around the clock without complaint; He’s more than earned a nap.

The Grinch plays in the background but Dan’s mind wanders. He wishes they could hop on the tube and buy mulled wine at seven dials or even just walk down the street to Starbucks and get overpriced, festively themed lattes. He already hates the feeling of being confined, of depending on Phil even more than usual, of the pain and the inconvenience and the loneliness. 

Then Phil yawns and stretches and wraps his arms around Dan’s waist and kisses his neck and Dan thinks maybe he could stop feeling sorry for himself just for today. He’s going to heal up eventually and he doesn’t want to remember their first Christmas together as a mopey one.

“Phil?”

“Mmm.”

“Are you awake?”

“Maybe. Why, d’you need something?”

Guilt twinges in Dan’s chest. “No. I was just… thinking.”

“Uh oh,” Phil teases, his voice all gravelly from the sleep. “About what?”

“I dunno. Stuff and things.”

“What stuff? What things?”

Dan turns his head so his mouth is pressed to Phil’s forehead. “You stuff. Us things.”

“Tell me,” Phil says.

“I was just thinking like… why do we still spend Christmas apart?”

“You know why.”

“I know what we said like seven fucking years ago.”

“Has anything changed?” Phil asks. 

“Yes. Lots.”

“You think?”

Dan frowns. “Don’t you?”

Phil shrugs. “We still have family on opposite ends of the country. We still have fans who track our every move.”

“Yeah but… you _are_ my family,” Dan says quietly. “You’re the family I wanna see.”

“I wanna see you too,” Phil says. “But I also wanna see my parents.”

“I know.” Dan knows that, of course he does. There’s really nothing Phil values more than family. “I’d go with you.”

“People would find out,” Phil murmurs. “Like last year.”

Dan sighs. “I guess I’m wondering when we’re gonna decide that we don’t care. When is what we want gonna come before what it looks like to other people.”

Phil is quiet. Dan knows that question is unfair. Neither of them know the answer to that one.

“Sorry,” Dan whispers. “I shouldn’t think. I don’t wanna ruin the time we have.”

“I want cookies,” Phil blurts.

Dan laughs. “Can we have pizza instead?”

“Oh my god, Dominos?”

“How have we not had Dominos? This is like the most perilous shit I’ve ever been through in my _life_.”

Phil sits up. “We’re doing it. Now.”

“Are you resentful of me that we’re eating pizza on Christmas eve instead of whatever amazing home cooked thing your mum would have made?”

“No. Shut up.” Phil shoves Dan very gently in the shoulder. “Where’s my laptop?”

“Bedroom.”

They order the pizza and only manage to eat about half of it. Dan’s pain meds make him feel a little queasy, but what he does manage to eat feels almost like therapy.

“This is good,” Phil says. “We can eat leftovers for breakfast.”

“You hate savoury breakfast,” Dan reminds him.

“Not Dominos. Dominos is the exception that proves the rule.”

Dan laughs and then very suddenly his emotions turn the other way.

Phil notices. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dan lies.

“Tell me or I’ll… do something.”

Dan cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Something you’ll hate.”

“You’ve got nothing, do you?” Dan tries to twist around and kick playfully at Phil’s thigh, forgetting that that’s not something he can really do. “Ow, fuck.”

“Jesus, Dan. Don’t do that.” Phil’s tone isn’t playful anymore. 

“Sorry. Kinda forgot for a sec.”

“Tell me the thing or I’ll be cross.”

Dan sighs. “You’re gonna be cross if I say it anyway.”

“Then you might as well spit it out, mate.”

Dan gives him a look.

“Ok, fine, I promise I won’t be cross.”

“I just like… I hate that our Christmas traditions are being dictated by my busted leg.”

“They’re not. It’s not like we have to do the same things every year.”

“I guess. But that’s kind of what traditions _are_.”

“Yeah but,” Phil says, “I wouldn’t be unhappy with Dominos and mince pies and films and sofa cuddles being our Christmas traditions some day, would you?”

Dan smiles. “I guess not. But—”

“No buts,” Phil interrupts. “We get to decide our own traditions. And next year they won’t be dictated by busted limbs. Hopefully.”

“Next year?” Dan asks.

“I reckon we’re old enough now to make our own traditions without having to answer to anyone else, yeah?”

“I mean…” Dan reaches up and rubs the shaved bit of hair above Phil’s ear. “You’re literally going grey.”

Phil reaches his own hand up and traces lightly around the corner of Dan’s eye. “And you’re wrinkly,” he says softly.

“That’s your fault,” Dan says, smiling to prove his point.

Phil leans in for a kiss and their lips smack as they pull apart. 

“So,” Phil says. “Can we have cookies now?”


End file.
